The Pulse (13 page)

Emily nodded and stuck the gun in the back of her jeans, pulling her shirt over it to cover the butt of the gun. She felt safer, knowing she had some protection.

But no amount of firepower could help her if they didn’t get the hell out of there immediately.

Mason looked at her. “Are you okay?”

She thought about it for a second. No, she really wasn’t… She’d killed a man. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We’re not too far from the main exit. Follow me out—hopefully they’ll let you since I’m dressed like one of them.”

That was his plan? Just waltz out of there in plain sight? He must have sensed her skepticism. “I’m open to other ideas,” he said.

“No, no other ideas.”

“Let’s go, before they realize something’s going on. If we go now we’ll only have the one guard at the exit to deal with. I hope.”

“I can’t believe I killed him,” she whispered, following close behind Mason as they stepped out the ruined door, looking up and down the empty hall before walking toward the exit.

“Forget about it,” Mason said. “Besides, if you hadn’t done it, I would have. His number was up.”

The guard at the door stopped them. Emily realized her hands trembled, and she shoved them into her pockets to hide them.

“Be back before curfew or you’ll be locked out all night,” the guard said. “Ten
P.M.
and we go on lockdown.”

Mason nodded. “I know.”

Scrambling behind him, Emily didn’t dare look back. Freedom—finally, blessed freedom. She wanted to kiss the dirty New York City sidewalk. If she never went back to Grand Central again in her life, it would be too soon.

“We can’t go back to my apartment,” Mason said.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, walking faster to keep up with his long strides.

He didn’t stop walking until they were several blocks from the camp. The fast pace had left her panting, unused to the exercise.

“Did he hurt you, Emily? Did any of them hurt you?”

“Well, let’s see,” she said. “I’ve been slapped, shoved, and cuffed to a chair, but somehow I don’t think that’s what you’re getting at. Oh, and I cut my thigh on some broken glass.”

He kept looking at her, a strange expression on his face.

“Why?” she demanded. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t touched me since you came and got me—you can smell him on me, and I disgust you.”

On a purely rational, intellectual level, Emily was aware she probably projected her own feelings onto Mason—but there was nothing rational about her emotions.

God, I practically threw myself at Andrews. Begged him to fuck me.
No one needed to know about that. Ever.

Mason shook his head angrily. “You don’t disgust me, don’t be ridiculous. I just have to know. Were you raped?”

The image of Andrews forcing his cock into her mouth flashed through her mind unbidden. But she didn’t need to burden Mason with that visual too, especially after what happened with his sister. She didn’t want him acting all weird around her.

“No,” she said. “No one touched me.”

“That’s good.” He looked visibly relieved. “Then why’d you cut him… there?” He pointed to his groin.

“Because I’m a nurse.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Where do we go now?”

“We should find a place to hide for the night. Someplace they won’t think to look.”

Emily thought hard. Pretty much any building she’d ever been to before should be avoided. Ditto any hospital, since they had to know by now she was a nurse.

“I need to bathe, Mason,” she said softly. “I feel… dirty. I have to wash off the blood.” Looking closely at her skin, she could see speckles of dried blood all over. It was horrible.

“Okay,” Mason said. “We’ll find you a bath.”

Emily looked up
at Le Parker Meridien Hotel on West Fifty-Sixth Street. “I heard they have a pool. Maybe I can bathe in that.”

“Only one way to find out.” Mason put his arm out to her like a gentleman in an old-fashioned movie, and Emily laughed, feeling silly as she took it.

The lobby had been vandalized and scavenged like every other building in the area. The words “The Meek Shall Inherit” were scrawled across one wall in spray paint.
A philosophical graffiti artist
, she mused.

They stepped over broken glass to get to the door that led to the back stairs.

The stairwells were dark as they ascended to the upper levels. Only the sounds of their footsteps and their breath broke the silence.

Mason swung open the door to the pool. Moonlight shone in through the large glass windows on the far side of the pool area.

The walls, Emily could see, were a dark wood paneling that looked sort of retro-modern. White chaise lounges spread out all over the place as if at any moment the hotel would be open again for business, and tourists with money to burn would be lounging by the poolside.

The pool, after a year of neglect, smelled disgusting. Thick algae created a scummy layer over the once chlorinated pool water.

“So much for my bath,” Emily said with dismay.

“I said you were going to get your bath, and I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Mason said. “I need a bucket.”

“The rooms probably have ice buckets,” she suggested.

“Let’s find a room.”

Mason opened a
room door down the hall. It wouldn’t be the easiest to get to from the pool area, but it wouldn’t be the first room someone would look in either, in case anyone did come looking.

They hadn’t left a trail, and no one had followed them—Mason had made sure of that. They should be safe for the night at the hotel.

The rooms on the upper levels hadn’t been trashed, probably because the looters were in a rush and unwilling to climb that many flights of stairs. He opened the bathroom door and grinned when he saw the bathtub and big fluffy bathrobes. “Don’t put that on yet—you’re going to want to wait until you’re completely clean.”

“I don’t think I’ve been completely clean since before the Pulse,” Emily laughed.

“Look—little mini shampoo bottles. Soap.”

“But no water.”

Mason grinned. “This is gonna involve some heavy lifting. Why don’t you gather some towels, and I’ll get some buckets of pool water.”

Emily shook her head. “What, I can’t do heavy lifting? I’ll help you carry water. It’ll be quicker that way.”

She must really want to get clean
, Mason thought. He didn’t believe her when she said no one touched her. She acted like Stephanie had, after… Mason shook his head. No use thinking about that now.

They gathered two ice buckets of water each and carried them back to the room, sloshing scummy water over the sides of the buckets onto the expensive carpet. Just as Emily was about to pour the water into the bath, Mason stopped her.

“Wait,” he said. “I’ll hold a towel, you pour the water through the towel. It will filter it.”

Emily smiled. “That’s smart.” Pouring the green water over the white towel Mason held taut over the tub, she laughed excitedly as the water that went into the tub came through basically clear.

“It’s not drinkable, so don’t get it in your mouth,” Mason warned.

“Let’s get more,” Emily said. “We can have a full bathtub!”

Four trips to the pool and back, and Emily had her full bath. The water was room temperature, even slightly chilly, but she didn’t seem to care. Stripping out of her filthy clothes, she sank into the tub.

“Pass me one of those bad boys, will you?” she asked, gesturing to the mini shampoo bottles.

Instead, Mason poured some shampoo into his own hands and lathered up her hair. Blood rinsed out of the hair into the water.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, concerned.

“Not my blood,” she murmured, her eyes closed as he continued massaging her scalp, working the flowery-scented shampoo through her brunette strands.

“You did what you had to do,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

Mason ran his sudsy hands over her shoulders, down her arms, gently massaging her muscles as he washed away the grit and grime and blood.

He wished he could wash away her bad feelings as easily.

“Soap, please,” she said, sticking her hand out. He unwrapped a very thin bar of citrus-smelling bath soap and handed it to her.

She rubbed the bar in circles over her pubic hair, then dipped her fingers between her legs, washing herself carefully—though Mason couldn’t see exactly what she was doing since she lay on her back.

Watching her touch herself—even though all she did was wash—made his cock twitch in his pants. He wanted to be clean too. “No rush, take your time. But I wanna bathe when you’re done. I’ll use the same bathwater.”

Emily nodded slowly, her eyes still closed. She looked so much paler now, with all the dirt and soot washed off her face and limbs.

“I’m done.” She stood, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her torso. “Your turn.”

Mason stripped off the dead soldier’s shirt and his own dirty pants, carefully laying his guns on the long white bathroom counter next to where Emily’s gun had been.

“Hey,” he said. “Where’s your gun?”

Already dressed in the fluffy white robe, she patted her pocket, shrugging. “I like having it on me.”

As long as she didn’t accidentally shoot him, he had no problem with that.

Mason squeezed the contents of another shampoo bottle into his hands and made quick work of lathering himself up, making sure to clean his cock and ass as carefully as Emily had cleaned herself.

Stepping out of the tub, he gratefully took the robe Emily handed him.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re not as tan as I thought you were.”

“I guess a lot of that was dirt.”

Emily smiled and looked down at the bathwater, now a dingy gray. “I’m going to wash our clothes,” she announced. “They can dry overnight.”

“All right,” he agreed. “But I’m getting fresh water.”

“Do you still have to wear that soldier’s outfit?”

Those fucking bastards. If she hadn’t already killed that one he’d have done it himself. And if he ever saw another again, he’d kill him too.

“Not tonight, Em. But I should wear it when we hit the road. It’s like a disguise.”

She nodded, but she touched the garment cautiously, as if it might bite her.

“It’s just a shirt. There are no soldiers here,” Mason said. “And if a soldier does come here, I’ll shoot him.”

“I killed a man, Mason. What was I thinking? I’m going to hell now because I killed a man. There was so much blood…”

Mason wrapped his arms around her. She smelled delicious, but he tamped down his desire so he could comfort her. “You’re not going to hell. You did what you had to do. And I’m—I’m proud of you. You took care of yourself.”

She looked up into his eyes. “I suppose I did. I didn’t think anyone was going to rescue me. I had to save myself.”

“It’s good to be independent. Never depend on anyone. You gotta look out for yourself, and that’s what you did.”

“That’s what you do,” Emily said softly, “huh.”

“I work best alone. It’s how I’ve always been, and how I’ll probably always be.”

Later,
as Emily hung the freshly washed and wrung-out clothes on the shower bar in the hotel bathroom, she reflected on Mason’s words. He was proud of her for killing her attacker, because she had to look out for herself—because he wouldn’t always be there to save her.

She would be alone, and he would be alone—somewhere else.

Why did that wrench her gut so much?

How would she escape the city without his help? No—he had no place in the city to stay for anymore. His home had been compromised. So he could go with her.

But he didn’t know where they’d escape to, or what it would be like. At least they both knew the city well, harsh as it was.

What might be out there, outside the island of Manhattan?

Tomorrow, Emily promised herself, she’d find out. She’d walk all day if she had to—she was going to cross the bridge off the island and start heading north. Crops could very well be rotting in a field somewhere—perfectly good food—simply for lack of people to harvest and then no trucks to ship stuff.

She imagined walking through a cornfield, the stalks growing higher than her head. The thought calmed her somehow. It felt meditative.

Yes, tomorrow she would get off the island and head upstate. She’d start her new life.

Tonight, she’d do everything in her power to convince Mason to join her.

Her powers of persuasion might be a bit rusty, but she was going to enjoy trying, anyhow, if he was up for it.

Emily opened the bathroom door. Mason lay naked in the middle of the large king-sized bed on top of his robe, the duvet tossed onto the floor. His hands were laced behind his head, and he appeared to be dozing, or thinking. His eyes opened at the sound of her coming out of the bathroom and he stood up quickly.

“I know you had a hard time, being back at Grand Central,” he said, stepping toward her. “So I want you to know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’ll understand.”

Emily dropped her robe to the floor, the gun making a muffled thud in the pocket as it hit the ground. “I can take care of myself, remember?”